


Small Town Business (Not to be confused with Small Business)

by Reaping



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Allison Argent - brief mention, Alternate Universe - Human, Anal Sex, Bar Owner Derek Hale, Drinking, Everyone Is Alive, Fluff, Happily Ever After, Isaac Lahey - brief mention, Kira Yukimura - brief mention, M/M, Minor Allison Argent/Isaac Lahey/Scott McCall, Restaurant Owner Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCcall - brief mention, Snark, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Vernon Boyd - brief mention, brief mention of smoking cigarettes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-20 06:48:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15528561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reaping/pseuds/Reaping
Summary: “Exactly. And this is why you’re paying me the big bucks.”“We’re not paying you any bucks.”“Yet!”“Never.”“You keep telling yourself you’re not gonna give it to me, I’ll keep knowing better.”





	Small Town Business (Not to be confused with Small Business)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [froggydarren](https://archiveofourown.org/users/froggydarren/gifts).



> This was written for Sterek Reversebang 2018, and is based on the the amazing froggydarren's ([ao3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/froggydarren) || [tumblr](http://triggeringthehealing.tumblr.com/)) fan edit!
> 
> You can [see the art here!](http://triggeringthehealing.tumblr.com/post/176529688069/my-darling-jennthereaper-jumped-in-on-this-one) Please go show it some love.
> 
> Special thanks to my betas ([Michal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theabominablesnowman) and Mels) and cheerleaders ([Allison](https://archiveofourown.org/users/im2old4thisotp/pseuds/im2old4thisotp) and the rest) who helped me bang this out in definitely not enough time. Any errors remaining are my own (if you catch anything obvious, please feel free to let me know so I can fix it).

Derek sees the truck stop and checks his gas gauge, noting how close to empty and the dreaded orange light of “fill me now” the needle is. He sighs when he realizes the usual sign with pricing is missing, but pulls in anyhow, parking neatly at a pump nestled under an old and fading ‘Full Service’ sign. He sees a young guy leaning against an ancient Pepsi machine, a bottle of soda in one hand, cigarette in the other. Derek scowls, glancing back and forth from the sign to the guy, before giving in and getting out of the Camaro.

“Do you still actually offer full service here?”

“For you? Sure.” The guy smirks, eyebrows rising as he gives Derek an obvious once-over, then he laughs and drops the cigarette to the pavement, grinding it out with the toe of his shoe before he turns and heads inside the building, the glass doors reflecting the setting sun, turning them into a mirror. Derek waits for him to come back out with whatever he needs for whatever full service means around here. He wishes again that Laura had picked another location for their newest club - not the small town his parents had grown up and raised them in until they were about ten.

Derek waits. And waits. And then waits some more. He thinks maybe fifteen minutes have passed and the attendant is still nowhere to be seen and seriously, he doesn’t have time for this. His jaw clenches and he lets out an annoyed sigh before stomping his way around the front of his car, beeping the alarm on as he goes. He yanks the glass doors open and steps inside, blinking as his eyes adjust. He’s about ready to demand to see a manager when his brain finally catches up and he looks around with his jaw hanging open.

The room is filled with soft lighting and dark wood dining tables and booths, nearly every one of them packed in with people. There are waiters and bussers weaving in and out around chairs with practiced ease, carrying trays laden with food. It looks a little like diner food, but better quality than what you’d usually find at a truck stop restaurant, smells better too. His mouth waters a little, if he’s honest with himself.

“Can I help you? We don’t really have tables for one, but I’m sure I could make an exception.” Derek turns to find the guy from outside smiling at him, eyes dancing with mirth. There’s a nametag slapped onto the chest of his shirt now, and Derek takes the time to read it, wondering where the hell the guy got a name like _Stiles_ from.

“This isn’t a truck stop.”

“Nope.” The smirk is back.

“But you let me think it was.”

“Yep.”

“And you were just gonna leave me out there to wait. Couldn’t possibly tell me I’d been mistaken.”

“You look smart, dude, you’d have figured it out eventually.”

“Don’t call me dude.”

“Sure. So...did you want a table?”

“Do I want... ? No. What I wanted was gas for my car.”

“Well, can’t help you with that. If you want food, I’ll seat you, otherwise you’re on your own, buddy.” Another smirk. Derek can feel his jaw start to tick.

“How about a manager, can you find me one of those?”

“Of course. Stiles Stilinski, nice to meet you. I’m the manager, how can I help you?” The smirk is quickly growing to a full-fledged grin and Derek can feel his cheeks heating in irritation.

“Fine, you’re the manager. Great. What about the owner, can I talk to them?”

“Oh, totally. Stiles Stilinski, owner and sole-proprietor of Roscoe’s, what can I do for you Mr….? You know, I didn’t catch your name.” Stiles holds his hand out, head tilted slightly to the side, eyebrows up.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“Nope, no joke. So, you do have a name right?”

“Yeah, yeah I have a name. And no, I’m not gonna tell you.” Derek stomps out and back to his car, hoping there’s an actual gas station in this godforsaken town. He’s regretting not just riding up with Laura after all.

When he tells her the story later that night as they settle into their motel room, she laughs so hard she snorts wine out of her nose. Derek throws a pillow at her head.

  


***

  


The space they’d picked out was prepped and ready for them to start moving in the seating and decor. The bars for each level had been built before they got here, all the power and water turned on and checked. The new front doors had been put in, steel and frosted glass replacing the old rolling door. The area had been industrial for years, rezoned just over a year ago for commercial use, and Laura had stumbled on the building when looking for a vacation home - something they wanted to gift to their parents as a thank you for all the support they’d had when they were working on getting the business off the ground. Derek’s still not exactly sure how Laura had convinced him that this place was ripe for new nightlife. Sure, half the other buildings had been converted to chic new apartments, but it still looked like the area was mostly empty - only a few other businesses on the block.

Derek’s exhausted when he gets to the building in the morning, but as he glances around the block again in the daylight, he realizes the one right next to them looks like a coffee shop and smells like heaven - and the motel coffee is not good, not good at all. Derek swings the door open, liking the bright but not blinding space. The smell is even better inside and he makes a beeline for the counter.

“Iced cafe mocha with an add shot. Please.” He pays and moves to the pick up area to wait, startling when a very familiar voice speaks in his ear.

“You know this is also not a truck stop, right?” Derek grits his teeth before turning to address Stiles.

“Yeah, got that from the lack of gas pumps and the smell of drinkable coffee, thanks.”

“Just checking. What are you doing on this side of town?” Stiles smirks at him, still clearly amused by everything about Derek.

“What are _you_ doing on this side of town?” Stiles outright laughs at him and Derek realizes how childish his reply had been. He turns and smiles at the barista when his name is called, thanking them before turning back.

“Derek, huh? Never would’ve guessed. And, to answer your question, I _live_ on this side of town. You, however, do not.”

“Why wouldn’t you think...you know what, nevermind. I don’t care, _Stiles_. And how do you know I don’t live on this side of town?”

“Ooh, you remembered my name, I feel special. Also, to answer that question, I know because you don’t live in this town at all, ergo, you can’t live on this side of town, _Derek_.”

“And how, exactly, do you know that?”

“Because I know everyone who lives in this town. You and the gorgeous brunette girlfriend you’re running around with don’t live here. And your motel is on the other side of town.”

“Gorgeous? _Laura_? That’s my sister!”

“I mean, whatever you get up to on your own time is your deal, none of my bus-”

“What is the _matter_ with you? She’s my sister, _not_ my girlfriend!” Derek cuts him off, voice too loud in the small space, causing the few other patrons to look their way. Derek can feel his cheeks heating up as he tries to calm back down. Stiles just laughs.

“Chill dude, I was just kidding. But, like I said, I know everyone here, and I know you don’t live here, and you’re not moving in. You don’t have to tell me why you’re over here. I mean, I can probably guess if I put a little effort in.” Stiles starts moving away, and Derek finds his feet carrying him after, even though he’d rather be literally anywhere else right now. He really would. Which is definitely why his feet are betraying him as they follow Stiles out the door and back into the bright sunlight. Derek finally takes a sip of his coffee and practically moans in delight - it’s a lot better than he expected. When he glances over, there’s a dusting of pink on Stiles’ cheeks, but he just takes a breath and continues on.

“Hmm...definitely not looking to move in, I know the realtor and nobody has looked at these overpriced apartments in a month.” Stiles’ fingers tap out a rhythm against his chin as he spins slowly in place, looking at the surrounding buildings and mostly empty storefronts. “Not the florist, that’s Jeanine from my dad’s neighborhood. Not the art shop either, that’s Melanie from high school.” He keeps turning, eyes landing on the doors to _Hale’s_ , glinting in the morning light. “Ugh, it’s that monstrosity isn’t it? What even is that sign, dude? It’s straight out of the boring handbook. I mean, is that Times New Roman?” At Derek’s look, Stiles cackles. “Oh my god, it is. How did anyone sell you on that as a good choice for a bar? Restaurant? Soccer-mom approved spa? What even is this supposed to be?”

“It’s a club. And the sign is fine. It’s the same sign we use on all of them.”

“You have other clubs? That are successful? With signs like _that_?”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re an asshole?”

“Oh, dude, all the time.” Stiles is laughing again and Derek thinks there’s maybe not enough coffee in the world for him to deal with this right now.

“Don’t call me dude.” He knows it comes out sounding petulant and childish, but god damn it, it’s barely 8am and he’s still trying to have his first decent cup of coffee. He stomps off to the sound of Stiles’ laughter, yanking open the door to Hale’s and slamming it closed behind him. Laura looks up from the paperwork she’s going over at the bar, catches sight of his face, and laughs at him too.

“I don’t know why the fuck I agreed to any of this.”

“Because you love me,” Laura manages to get it out around her snickers, going back to her paperwork. Derek sighs and downs the rest of his coffee, letting his straw make that annoying slurping noise and watching Laura’s shoulders twitch as she tries not to nag at him to cut it out. It’s petty, but it makes him feel a little better. Right up until he remembers they’re going to be here for the next two weeks.

  


***

  


Laura is surprisingly agreeable when Derek orders a new sign. And new doors. They’re more like the old one, treated steel. They swing outward instead of rolling, but there will be neighbors here eventually. There are regulations. The sign is neon, the glow casting colors onto the doors when night falls, lighting up the street in an enticing rainbow. The font is _not_ Times New Roman.

  


***

  


There are catalogs of furniture from their usual retailers strewn all about the space. They’d had a couple of desks delivered, temporary things that they still paid too much for, in Derek’s opinion, but necessary all the same. The laptops came with them from home. The wifi is borrowed from the cafe next door.

“Stolen, Laur. When you’re not paying for it and someone else _is_ and they don’t _know_  you’re using it...that’s stolen.”

“Relax dude, I asked the manager. They’re cool with it.”

“Don’t call me dude.”

“Okay, dude.”

“Laura - “ She laughs and Derek huffs. She never calls him dude. He doesn’t know where she picked that up.

  


***

  


It’s been three long and irritating days of arguing back and forth about the right furniture, but Derek thinks they’ve finally agreed. Everything they decided on is sleek - clean, sharp lines, lots of metal accents. It’s upscale, would put the club on par with the ones they’ve got in Hollywood and New York. Laura seems mad about it even though those two clubs make enough money that they alone could support them for the rest of their lives. She goes to get more coffee for them both, tells him to just hold off on placing the order, just until she’s back. He should’ve known better.

“Oh dude, no. No way. You cannot fill this place with that pretentious bullshit.” Derek’s eyes close, his head dropping back on his neck.

“Who let you in here?”

“Well, firstly, I let myself in because the doors aren’t locked. Good change by the way. Also, the sign is A-plus. Just, fyi, my advice isn’t always going to be free. Especially if you’ve got enough money to spend that much on ugly furniture that’s also basically asking for a lawsuit. Dude, that shit looks like it might become sentient and murder your patrons. Or, you know, hurt them if they ran into it and allow them to sue you. Trust me, you don’t want to go through a personal injury lawsuit with your business. Those are hard to win.”

“Yes, thank you Stiles, I’m well aware, being a _successful business owner myself_ .” He can’t help the snap to his tone, and he gives in and spins his chair around, figuring if he’s going to argue with this little shit, he may as well be facing him. Laura is standing just inside the doors, face lit up like Christmas has come early. She sees him glaring and laughs quietly before walking over and handing him his coffee. “ _You_ did this, you let him in.”

“Yep, and I’m not sorry Der. He’s right. The furniture is nice, but it’s not Beacon Hills. Look,” she takes his mouse, leaning over and clicking into the business email, then opening a message from an address he doesn’t recognize (although he’s got a pretty good guess as to who it belongs to - confirmed when the link she clicks finally loads and Laura steps back, waving at the monitor. “Stiles sent us a link to the place he used to outfit his restaurant. His _very successful and always full_ restaurant. The furniture is better and cheaper. Plus, he said he can put in a good word for us, maybe get us an even better discount and faster delivery. They’ve still got modern stuff, but it’s a little less _Beverly_ Hills and a little more _Beacon_ Hills.”

Derek doesn’t want to agree, but as he scans through the offerings in the collection, he finds sturdy but soft looking sofas and chairs, barstools that have backs and actual seats that someone could sit on for more than 20 seconds before their ass starts to go numb, low tables with curved edges that almost remind him of Mid-Century Modern, but with a fresher look, deeper tones of wood meant to hide spills and condensation rings. A quick glance at Laura and he knows she knows.

“I’ll set up the order Der. You can go somewhere else to look like you sucked on a particularly sour lemon.” Derek vacates his seat when Laura pinches his side, sticking his tongue out at her just to hear her laugh, let her know he’s not really mad about it. At least not about changing it up - he’s glad they hadn’t ordered yet because she was right. Stiles was right. But Derek will be damned if he admits it.

“I suppose I’ll let you have this one for free too, but don’t tell anyone, they’ll start to think I’m easy.” Stiles winks, goddamn winks at him, and Derek...can’t deal with this right now. He strides past him, is pulling the keys to the Camaro out before he’s even through the doors, frantically clicking the unlock button. He hurries across the sidewalk, around the front of the car, hurries but doesn’t run. No matter what it looks like, he’s definitely not running away as Stiles cackles behind him, calling his name.

  


***

  


“Laura, no.”

“Derek, _yes_.”

“No. Nope. Absolutely not.”

“Yes, yeah, absolutely definitely.”

“Laura.”

“Derek, I’m hungry, I’m cranky, and I’m tired of the crappy fast food you’ve had us living on. This is the _best_ restaurant in town. And Stiles said -”  
  
“I honestly do not give a single fuck what Stiles said.”

“Liar. Stiles said we were welcome any time, food would be on the house.” Laura grins triumphantly when Derek just huffs out a breath through his nose, and then she grabs his arm and drags him out of her car (a much more modest Toyota crossover of some sort) and towards Roscoe’s. Derek doesn’t drag his feet, no matter what Laura says.

The food, of course, is amazing. It _is_ traditional diner food, but also not. For one thing, it’s definitely using better ingredients than the average diner - Derek knows the burger he ordered isn’t chuck - he’s pretty sure it’s at least sirloin. Everything else is definitely better quality too - and he didn’t miss the notes in the menu about how everything is local, organic, and ethically sourced. He’s almost sad he ate his food so quickly (okay, not almost, definitely very sad) because it’s gone and he wants more - and also he still can’t quite figure out what that extra burst of flavor in the onion rings was - something a little sweet and also a little spicy. He reaches a hand toward Laura’s plate when she picks up her phone to check a text, but gets it slapped away hard enough that it’s still stinging a minute later. He may or may not be pouting now.

“Vidalias and cayenne.”

“What?” Stiles’ voice startled him. Derek had thought maybe it was his night off, he hadn’t seen Stiles at all when they walked in, or anytime after that either, until now.

“The onion rings. I took a trip to the south once. Southern Fried Sweet Onion Rings - you use vidalia for more sweetness, cayenne for a little kick. Delicious right?”

“Yeah, actually. Really delicious.”

“I know.” Stiles flashes him a genuine smile, no snark, no smirk, no sarcasm - and Derek kinda feels like someone punched him in the chest. His breath catches a little, seeing a flush of happiness wash over Stiles’ face as he glances around the restaurant. “Okay well, enjoy the rest of your dinner - I’ll send some more out for you in a few minutes. I’ve gotta get back in the kitchen, dinner rush and all.” Stiles’ hand drops briefly to Derek’s shoulder, squeezes, and then he’s gone, dodging his waitstaff like an expert. When he turns back to the table, Laura is staring at him, her lips parted, eyes wide.

“Not a word, Laura. Not a single word.” She mimes zipping her lips, and when his extra onion rings come a few minutes later, Derek looks down and smiles at them before digging in.

  


***

  


Things change after their dinner at the diner. Stiles is around a lot, but not just because Laura asks for his opinion. Derek finds himself checking in with Stiles too (after stealing his number from Laura’s phone - which is not creepy at all, no matter what Laura says). He does hook them up with his connection from the furniture supplier, and the cost comes in way below what they’d planned to spend. He also gives his opinion on barware and liquor suppliers - steering them clear of Daehler’s Liquor Connect, warning them that the business has been  under investigation a few times for suspicious activity. It turns out to be a good move, because two days after they decline their contract with the company, it gets raided by the local branch of the FBI.

The club is coming together nicely, the atmosphere still upscale, but without the rich kid playground vibe their initial plans had given it. Derek and Laura have gotten to know more of the locals too - and have become particularly close with the owners of the cafe, givers of life-saving caffeine and pastries. Isaac and Scott started the place with their girlfriend Allison around the same time that Stiles opened his restaurant - although they used to be in an older shop front on Main. They needed more space, so when the rezoning happened, they jumped at the chance to actually buy a building, not just rent one. They’re nice, and they usually start Derek and Laura’s orders as soon as they catch sight of one of them walking up.

Stiles is warmer too. He’s still an asshole (but so is Derek), but he’s not cruel. He’s just snarky, which works because so are Derek and Laura. He fits with them like they’ve known each other for years, not for barely a week.

“I’m telling you Derek, you need to put more sofas and chairs on the second level. You don’t need another dance floor up there.”

“Stiles, I own -”

“We.”

Derek sighs, rolls his eyes.His eyebrows go up and he turns his face towards his sister.

“ _We_ own seven clubs. Happy Laura?”

“Very.”

“Seven _successful_ clubs.”

“Yeah, well, I own one _very_ successful small-town business. How many of your clubs are in small towns, huh?” Stiles waits. Derek glares. “Exactly. And this is why you’re paying me the big bucks.”

“We’re not paying you any bucks.”

“Yet!”

“Never.”

“You keep telling yourself you’re not gonna give it to me, I’ll keep knowing better.” Derek tilts his head, waits for Stiles’ brain to catch up to what he just said. He smirks when fire licks up Stiles’ face. “I’m not taking it back.”

“Nobody asked you to.” Derek smirks again and goes to talk to the installation crew about adding more sofas and chairs upstairs. It takes him his own long minute to realize that he’d just flirted back, even if Stiles hadn’t meant to flirt in the first place. “Fuck.”

  


***

  


Laura, surprisingly, doesn’t give him any shit when he talks to her about it the next week. Talks more than he’s talked about anyone in awhile - about how he didn’t realize how much he actually liked Stiles, right from the start (“I mean, Der, you’re kinda so obvious about it that the astronauts on the ISS can probably tell”). How he appreciates his input on the club (“could’ve fooled me” ). That he wants more, but doesn’t want to try and risk their tentative friendship (“Der, we’re here for another week, it’s not like you can’t just go away if it goes badly”).

“Seriously Laura, shut up. That help is not helping.” They were getting ready to head back to Roscoe’s for dinner, having spent the better part of the day taking in the last of the deliveries. They’d spent the last several days interviewing waitstaff, managers, security. It had been a frustrating process, but they put together what they hope will be a good team, people who seemed to fit with each other. A lot of them recommended by Stiles (apparently he really did know everyone). The opening was set for two days from now, Friday. They had a moderately known DJ coming in to spin for the first night, had friends and business acquaintances flying up from LA to pack the house, hoped the locals would come out too. Their PR firm had already arranged for a few interviews as well, plus teams of photographers and social media experts to help get the club trending. Beacon Hills might be a small town, but it wasn’t far from several much larger places - close enough for people to want to drive up. Or so they hoped.

“Don’t be like that Der, I’m just saying, you should go for it. He’s cute, he’s funny, he’s the right kind of dick. Also he _has_ a dick, which I know is exactly what you need.”

“Laura! Jesus. Please stop. I’m begging you.” Derek scrubs a hand down his face, checking his reflection in the shitty motel mirror before dragging off his shirt and grabbing the first one he had on.

“Derek, can you just pick something to wear? It’s Roscoe’s, not Nobu.”

“Fine. Fine. I’m ready, let’s go.” Derek’s pulled on a soft maroon henley to go with his black jeans. He ignores the knowing look Laura gives him when the jeans creak if he steps too wide.

“I’ve changed my mind, I think you need to change your pants. Stiles can’t get in them if air can’t even get through.”

“Laura!”

She just laughs and walks out the door, footsteps echoing softly on the pavement. Derek gives in and follows because he’s hungry.

  


***

  


Opening night is frantic, there’s always a lot more last minute things that everyone forgets about - but the music is finally pumping, the base vibrating through the walls. Derek lost count of how many pictures he had to pose for, how many times he’s had to answer the same question for different reporters. On the upside, the place is packed, they hit capacity and there’s still a line around the block, the doormen working hard to make sure everyone behaves. Derek’s greeted old friends, business rivals, and celebs alike. He’s watched the locals take in the scene inside with excitement on their faces and hopes they’ll keep coming back. The only person he hasn’t seen all night is Stiles. He can’t hide his disappointment.

“Hey, Boyd - has Stiles shown up yet?” He’d put him on the list, told the doormen to let him through whenever he got there, even if they were full up (Derek and Laura learned early on to cut off entry when they were close to capacity but not actually at it - gave them some wriggle room in case the fire martial showed up).

“Nah man, not since I’ve been on the door.”

“Okay, thanks, just remember, if he-”

“If he shows up, let him through. I’ve got it boss.”

‘Great, thanks Boyd.”

Derek makes another pass through the main floor of the club, helping the staff clear glasses, making sure things still look good. He’s just straightening up from picking up more shot glasses, turning to head back to the bar with them, when he bumps into another man.

“Sorry about that, didn’t see you there.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” Derek rolls his eyes a bit at the hostile tone, opens his mouth to apologize again, maybe comp him a drink just to get him to chill out, but the man makes the mistake of shoving him. Derek calmly sets the shot glasses back onto the table he’d just cleared, but then the man speaks again. “Next time you need to pay better attention, get out of the way of the people who can actually afford to drink here. I know the owner, one word from me and your ass is out of a job.” Derek crosses his arms over his chest, eyebrow rising.

“Oh really?”

“ _Yes, really_ , “ the tone is mocking and childish, and Derek just snorts out a laugh. “Laugh it up pal, you’re gonna be toast here by the end of the night.”

“Oh Jimmy, Jimmy Jimmy, poor, stupid Jimmy. What are you doing man?” And that’s Stiles, out of nowhere, hands squeezing the man’s - Jimmy’s - shoulders. Derek watches Jimmy try to shrug Stiles off, but Stiles doesn’t budge. “Jimmy, this is Derek Hale. You know, one of the Hale’s of, well _Hale’s_ . Dude,” Stiles turns his face to Derek, “you _really_ should’ve found something else to name this place...it’s gonna get confusing super fast.” Derek just rolls his eyes, taps the radio earpiece he’s got on and asks for a security member to come to his location. He smiles when it’s Boyd who’s sent.

“Okay Jimmy, I think you’re ready to go, don’t you?” Body takes firm hold of Jimmy’s arm and escorts him out. They both watch them go and then it’s just the two of them (and over a thousand other people).

“Good to know you had it under control, Special Agent Hale.” Stiles does a mock salute, and Derek snorts, head dipping down until he’s peering up at Stiles from under his lashes. Stiles clears his throat, “so, uh, hey, hi, I made it.”

“I see that,” Derek smirks when he sees the faint flush bloom on Stiles’ cheeks. He takes a half step forward, is about to reach out…

“Stiles! You made it!” Laura’s voice cuts over the music and Stiles spins towards her, opening his arms when she flings herself at him. Derek shakes off the missed moment and goes to rescue Stiles from his increasingly octopus-like sister - he’s not sure who’s been serving her, but he knows a drunk Laura when he sees one. She’d been fine when he’d left her side a half hour ago.

“Laura, let Stiles go. Laura!” She giggles and stops trying to squeeze the life out of their friend, turning her body enough to keep a hold of him while facing Derek.

“Fun sucker.”

“I hate when you call me that.”

“I hate when you _are_ that. You should loosen up Der, it’s opening night.”

“Like you? What happened Laur, you were mostly sober less than an hour ago.”

Laura leans forward, pulling Derek’s face around so her mouth is near his ear, and mock-whispering in it. “Tequila.” Derek just nods.

“That explains it.” Derek thinks they’re lucky she hasn’t tried to climb on a table yet, because she never stops at one shot. When Laura starts dragging Stiles towards the bar, Derek follows. It’s not that he wants to babysit her, it’s that he kinda needs to because there’s still press floating around. She’s usually pretty good, but it’s been a long two weeks, and he’s pretty sure she’s had enough to hit the ‘fuck it, I deserve a break’ stage of partying. Also the ‘doesn’t want to drink alone stage’ if the round of shots she asks for is any indication. Derek counts six. Six shots of tequila. He tries to wave off her attempts to pass him two of the shot glasses, but her glare is surprisingly still effective, even as she rocks slightly on her heels.

“Bottoms up!” Stiles has to yell a little to be heard over the thumping bass, but he clinks his first shot glass gently against Derek’s and then tips it down his throat. Derek watches the pale column of his throat as Stiles swallows, staring a little dumbly, until Stiles pops the glass onto the bar and grabs the second one, eyes flicking between Derek’s face and his still-full glass. Derek lets out a breath and downs the shot, grimacing as he sets the empty onto the bar, picking up his second as well. The second goes down easier, but when he goes to set the empty glass down, there’s another full one waiting for him (and a third for Stiles as well). He just stares at it in confusion until Laura pushes between them.

“It’s been brought to my attention that I am getting messy, so you two take my shots. Have fun, be safe, make good choices!” She slaps them both on the ass, earning an irritated glare from Derek and a startled yelp from Stiles.

“Did she just quote Pitch Perfect?”

“Yep. She loves that movie. Be grateful you’ve never had to hear her sing along to it.” Derek smiles when Stiles barks out a laugh. “Well, no sense wasting good booze, right?” He picks up his shot and faces Stiles, clinking their glasses together before downing it, not even noticing the taste at all this time. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he knows that’s probably not a good thing, but he’s more relaxed than he’s been in...he can’t even remember how long. It’s easy to let Stiles take his arm and drag him into the crowd on the dance floor, to lose himself in the beat and the press of bodies around them. He can feel the energy pulsing through the room, the excitement and joy radiating off of the customers. It’s nothing, like breathing, when he pulls Stiles against him, back to Derek’s chest, arms wrapped around Stiles’ slimmer but surprisingly muscular frame. Derek moves his hips to the bassline, Stiles’ body moving with his, his face dropping down, nose running up the neck he’d been admiring just a short while ago. Long fingers wrap behind his head, curl into his hair, tug his face around so a warm mouth can press against his. Derek opens into the kiss, feels a tongue sweeping against his. The angle is awkward, almost uncomfortable, so Derek separates them, spins Stiles so they’re pressed chest to chest, mouth dragging back against Stiles’. His thigh slides between Stiles’ legs, he can feel a hardness matching his own as they kiss in the middle of the crowded floor, hips slowly grinding, only half-way swaying to the music still. He rolls his hips harder, lets Stiles feel how into it he is, and earns a gasp. Except then Stiles pulls back.

“I...listen Derek, I gotta go.” It’s hard to hear over the music, but Stiles’ grimace is pretty easy to understand. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?” Derek thinks he nods and then his arms are all the way empty and Stiles is weaving through the crowd. Going, going, gone. It takes a minute to remember he’s still in the middle of the dance floor, an island of stillness in a sea of moving people. He shakes himself off and makes his way out of the crowd, up the stairs to the second floor. Stiles was right about this too, the customers up here are talking, joking, drinking - enjoying the space and the slightly easier to be heard in atmosphere while still getting to people-watch the crowd below. It doesn’t take him long to find his sister.

“Der-bear! There you are! Where’s Stiles?” Laura peers around him but he just shakes his head.

“He had to go”

“Go? Where?” Laura takes a good look at his face and he knows he’s not hiding anything from her when she winces. “What happened Der?” He shakes his head again, lets her lead him to the nearly invisible door that puts them in the upstairs office. The noise of the club is almost non-existent when the door snicks closed behind them.

“I...I don’t know. We were laughing and dancing and then we were kissing and then he just...took off.”

“Oh, Der.” Laura cups his cheek and then pulls him into a hug. He sighs into it, lets himself relax for a minute before he gently knocks his temple against hers.

“I’ll be fine Laura, I barely know him. And it’s not like I live here, it wouldn’t work anyhow.”

“Sure, okay. That makes sense.” She’s still looking at him like she doesn’t believe him, but he plasters on a smile for her anyhow and then stands.

“Come on, let’s go make the rounds one more time. It’s opening night, we need to be out there.” He holds out a hand to her and she takes it, squeezing, and they go back out.

  


***

  


Derek’s head is pounding in the morning. A steady throb, throb, throb that makes him groan and shove his pillow over his face. When the sound muffles a bit, he realizes it’s not coming from inside his head, but from the door to the motel. He lets out an oof when something flies at him and catches him in the side.

“Der, make it stop, _please_ , for the love of god make it stop.” At least Derek’s not the only one hungover - Laura sounds like she’s ready to curl up and die.

It takes way more effort than it should to roll out of bed, and his head definitely does start throbbing when he stands, but he manages to stumble his way to the door, pulling it open and then hissing when the early morning sun shines right into his face. He leans back into the room, hand slapping around on the desk behind the door until he feels glasses and is able to mash them onto his face. The light is marginally more manageable when he leans back, though he does have to squint a bit until he makes out a familiar, laughing face.

“Firstly, I don’t think those are your color.” Stiles’ fingers flick out, tapping the edge of the sunglasses, and Derek leans his face away until Stiles pulls his hand back. He watches as Stiles’ mouth purses before he continues talking. “Secondly, good morning, I come bearing hangover curing coffee and burritos.” Stiles waggles a paper bag and a full drink holder. “So, invite me in.”

“Why?”

Stiles waggles the food and drinks again. “Dude, I promise you’re gonna want to ingest the goodness I’ve brought you. Years of experience taught me the perfect cure.” Derek just stares at him until Laura yells from further in the room.

“For fuck’s sake Derek, let him in and shut the goddamn door. The sun is killing me.” Derek scowls back at his sister, but steps aside, closing the door as soon as Stiles is through it. He watches the other man walk over and drop down next to Laura, where she’s making grabby hands at him even with her eyes still closed. He wisely passes her the coffee first, waits until she’s had a few sips and heaves herself up to a sitting position before passing her a burrito. “Oh fuck, this is good.”

“Told you. Coffee and burritos. Chorizo, eggs, potatoes, salsa - life restoring food right there.”

“Coffee is good, tastes a little different - they do something to it?”

“Green powder, should be almost undetectable, sorry, but it helps with the hangover.”

“Huh, never thought of that before.”

“Trust me, in an hour you’ll feel like you’d never had a hangover at all. I promise.” Stiles’ smile is big as he watches Laura eat, still holding onto the drink tray and bag until Derek finally gives in and slumps back over to his bed, reluctantly taking the cup and wrapped breakfast when Stiles passes them over.

“What are you doing here Stiles?”

“I told you, I bring hangover cures dude.”

Derek just glares at him and waits.

“Okay, so...last night. We have to talk about that too. I did tell you I’d talk to you today.”

“Aaaand that’s my cue. I’m taking my delicious goodness with me to the shower, I don’t need to be here for this.” Laura only stumbles a little as she crawls out of bed, trying to keep ahold of her food and her coffee, and then makes a beeline straight for the bathroom, kicking the door shut gently once she’s in it.

“Listen, Derek…”

“It’s fine, Stiles, I get it. We were tipsy, it was a mistake.”

“Yes, I mean...no, but yes. We were tipsy. Maybe a little more than tipsy. _That’s_ why I had to go. I like you Derek, I really do. But we weren’t sober. Also, you’re leaving tomorrow, so there’s that.”

Derek contemplates this all while he chews his food. Because Stiles is right, they were drunk and Derek _is_ leaving. And it’s not like he hasn’t enjoyed one night stands or random hook-ups - he’s sure Stiles probably has too - but this doesn’t feel like that. If they hooked up, it would mean something, something more than that. And what’s he supposed to do with that when he’s got to be back in LA tomorrow night?

“Exactly.”

“Huh?”

“Oh, uh...you were talking?”

Derek looks up at Stiles then, because he hadn’t realized he’d said any of that out loud. “Oh.”

“Yeah. So. Listen, if you’re ever back in town - you or Laura - come say hi to me okay? We can hang out, I like you guys. And have a safe trip home.” Derek doesn’t say anything as Stiles gets up, hand briefly reaching out to squeeze his shoulder, and then walks out the door, out of Derek’s life probably. When Laura gets out of the shower, he’s still staring a little forlornly at his half-eaten burrito.

“Did Stiles leave?”

“Yeah.” It was less than two weeks really, not long enough to be upset, but Derek’s voice is a little rough anyhow. Laura, thankfully, doesn’t say anything, just sits next to him and wraps her arms around his waist.

“It’ll be alright. Eat your burrito, finish your coffee, have a shower - you’ll feel better, I do. We’ve gotta go run the books from last night and check in with the staff before we leave in the morning.”

Derek nods, does as she says.

Stiles was right about his patented cure, Derek’s hangover is gone within the hour, but he still feels a little like a kicked puppy.

  


***

  


Derek and Laura’s real estate agent is positively gleeful by the time they hang up with her, and they know it’s because she’s about to make a boatload in commission. Derek doesn’t begrudge her any of it.

“Okay, well, I hope you’re sure of this Der, because it’s a done deal now.”

“I’m sure, Laura.” He smiles at his sister as he calls the movers to make sure everything is set up.

“I’m gonna miss having you around all the time.”

“You’re gonna miss having someone to torture constantly, you mean.”

“Awww, it’s not torture Derek, it’s how I show I love you.”

“Keep telling yourself that.” The banter is easy, familiar, and he is going to miss it. They haven’t lived apart since their freshman year of college, haven’t had a reason to, but Derek thinks it’s finally time. They rib each other more as they finish packing up the bags that Derek will take with him, glancing around at their now half-empty townhouse.

“What am I gonna do all day without you?”

“Oh please, Laura. I won’t be far and I know you know how to use your phone.” Laura sticks her tongue out at him and he does it back, then gives her one last tight hug before picking up his bags, letting her open the door for him as he makes his way to the car.

“Call me when you get there. Let me know how it is.”

“Laura, you’ve been there.”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it.”

He does, but he’s not ready to acknowledge it so he just shakes his head, slamming the trunk closed and moving to the driver’s side. He lifts his hand and waves before sliding smoothly into the seat, smiling at the purr of the engine when he starts it up. He pulls out of the driveway and points the car north.

  


***

  


Derek’s been in the apartment for three days - mostly sad, empty days because the movers had a delay and his furniture was trapped on a truck halfway between his old home and his new one. Thankfully, it all arrived today. Now, at least, there’s a bed instead of a pile of his clothes. He’d set the appointments for the cable and internet before he’d ever even arrived, so at least he’d had his laptop and Netflix to keep him company. And the appliances were all included when he bought the loft, so he’d been able to order groceries and paper plates to tide him over. He’s spent the last four hours trying to unpack his life, so he’s a sweaty, kind of cranky and hungry mess when the knock comes. He’s not really thinking about it when he goes to answer the door - about how this building is still mostly empty, how he hasn’t ordered anything, how only his family has his address. He’s not thinking about it, so he’s unprepared when he slides it open and finds Stiles on the other side, face split into a huge grin, takeout bag in his hand.

“So, you bought a loft. When were you gonna come see me, dude?” Stiles nudges his shoulder gently with a palm and Derek easily steps back to let him in. It’s then that he starts to think about all the things he hadn’t been thinking.

“How did you know I was here?”

“Oh, Kira called me.”

“Kira? My real estate agent Kira?”

“Yeah, she’s from here. One of my best friends from high school. She’s actually the one who set me up with the location for Roscoe’s. And helped me buy my loft when these new buildings were up and ready.”

“That...okay, that explains how you know her, but that doesn’t explain why she told you I was here.”

“Dude, come on. One of my best friends. Of course I told her about you, and then I had to endure her laughing at me for a solid 20 minutes when I, quote, ‘waxed poetic’ about how much of an asshole you were and how much I loved it and missed it. And then she told me that her favorite clients had just bought two more properties in Beacon Hills and that she was gonna do me a favor because she could now afford her dream vacation and she was pretty sure I had something to do with that. So, did I?” Derek’s a little flabbergasted at the speed at which Stiles explained things, and he thinks he deserves to be forgiven for his brain latching on to a small part of it.

“You missed me?”

“What? Yeah, of course. Did you think I wouldn’t? I mean, I know it was a really short time but mmff-” Derek cuts Stiles off with a hard press of his lips, hands coming up to gently cradle Stiles’ face. He can feel the moment Stiles smiles against him.

“I missed you too.” The words are soft, but filled with truth.

“Good. Now, give me the tour.” So Derek does, pointing out his office space, the kitchen, downstairs bathroom. Stiles follows him up the winding stairs to the second floor, gets shown the guest bedroom (“Laura’s mostly probably - we bought a vacation house for our parents closer to the Preserve, I doubt they’d stay here when they can stay there.”), the tour ending at his own bedroom. Stiles’ eyes are sparkling when he speaks again. “If that fridge downstairs is stocked, I can make you my special welcome-home pancakes in the morning.”

“In the morning?”

Stiles flushes, gaze dropping a little as he tilts his head. “If you want, I mean.”

“I want. I _really_ want.”

“Good. Me too.” Stiles flushes for an entirely different reason then, picking up on the tone in Derek’s voice. The bag of food gets dropped unceremoniously as Stiles launches himself at Derek, their teeth clacking together before Derek tilts his head and their mouths meet at a better angle. There’s not a lot of thinking then, just warm breaths, the slide of their kisses, the sussurations of clothes being slid off and onto the floor, thumps from kicked away shoes. The bed groans and dips when they fall into it, the nightstand drawer sliding open smoothly as Derek retrieves the condoms and lube he’d bought along with his groceries (he maybe had a little hope, sue him), dropping them onto the bed beside them. The frantic pace of the kissing slows then, becomes softer as hands slide along skin, bodies rocking together while sweat builds between them, easing the glide.

The snick of the lube opening is loud in the quiet dimness of the bedroom, the sun setting outside the windows, casting long shadows as Derek slides down Stiles’ body, mouth engulfing him as his fingers travel lower, sliding between the cleft of his cheeks, fingertip circling Stiles’ rim as Derek’s head bobs, providing distraction for Stiles to relax into. Derek works him open in sure thrusts, fingers sliding in smoothly, stretching Stiles with ease, adding more lube as he works in a second and then a third finger. There’s more lube after the condoms go on, Derek’s breath hissing out of him at the glide of his hand over his cock. He’s as quick as he can be about it, and then he’s dipping forward, pressing his hips down, feeling the slight tightening of Stiles’ ass before he relaxes and lets Derek in. He tries to keep a slow and steady pace, but the tight clutch and warmth of Stiles’ body has him driving faster and faster, the sound of flesh colliding loud in the quiet space, interspersed with soft moans. Derek’s nearing the edge sooner than he’d anticipated, so he reaches down to grip Stiles, stroking him in time with his thrusts. He knows they’re both close when Stiles’ hips start rocking down to meet his own, dips his head to capture Stiles’ mouth in another kiss, crying out when he comes, his hips twitching and jerking through the aftershocks. Stiles’ hand grips around Derek’s, tightens his hold and helps move it until he’s crying out into Derek’s mouth too. Derek pulls out carefully, fingers holding the end of the condom tight until he’s rolled off and away, stripping it off carefully and tying it up. He can see Stiles doing the same. They toss them into the small trash can beneath the nightstand and then scoot to the middle of the bed, Derek happily resting his head on Stiles’ chest, both of them still breathing heavily.

“That was…”

“Yeah, yeah it was.” There’s a smile in Stiles’ voice as he speaks. They lay there for awhile, the sun setting and dropping the room into near darkness, the streetlight outside the only illumination. Eventually, Stiles clears his throat to ask the question Derek had been expecting earlier, before they got sidetracked. “So...why did you come back?”

“I kinda liked being a small business owner.”

“A small _town_ business owner. Nothing about your business is small.” Stiles snickers and Derek groans, burying his face in Stiles’ chest.

“That was terrible. So terrible. But yeah, okay. A small _town_ business owner. I liked it, being here. With you, and your friends. Beacon Hills is nice, different from LA. Not better, necessarily, but different in a good way.”

“So you plan to stay for awhile then? I mean, I didn’t want to assume, I know you bought the loft but I’m sure it’s not the only place you own.”

“Yeah, Stiles, I plan to stay. For awhile. A long while.”

“Good.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi to me on [tumblr](http://jennthereaper.tumblr.com/)!


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